


No Strings Attached

by Anonymous



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (Obviously), Blackwatch, Coming up on the sexy menu we got, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Kisses, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Mutual Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Underage - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, Young Jesse McCree, also they’re like 16 and 17 so nothing super gross, an undescribed fem lead, but no actual sex until they’re both legal, cacahuète means peanut, casual sex is difficult, catching feelings, classic friends to lovers trope, classic massage leading to smut trope, dry humping grinding, oh no they're hiding in a closet, the cast includes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She smirks, recalling the movie that had started all of this, still playing in the background. “Try not to fall in love with me.”Jesse rolls his eyes at that, but can’t help the excited tremor that flows through him to his cock. And especially not the similar jolt of pleasure when she unbuckles both his pants and hers.Casual sex ain't hard, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was an excuse to write some young!McCree smut. Also, I play fast and loose with the canon so much it could be considered an AU. 
> 
> Also, this work is posted anonymously for the underage content. Again _they are almost adults in this_. And **no actual sex happens until they're both legal**. I had this idea when I myself was almost 18, and had no intention of posting it. I'm just posting it now to get feedback on writing smut, so if you have constructive criticism on that, it would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Tags will be updated as each chapter is posted. The tags that pertain to that chapter will be added to the note at the begining. 
> 
> Thanks.

The first time it happens, they’re teens. Young, impressionable, and horny teens.

It happens after meeting up with some Omnics at a temple. Easy. Not the intense mission that had wanted, but easy. The most exciting thing was a riot outside, people angry Overwatch was showing support for the Shambali monastery. It had been quick to disperse and ended close to home, leaving them hyped up on adrenaline. Now they sit in a cold room, a vast but welcomed change to the mass of bodies that they had to fight through earlier.

The thrill of the “battle” not thirty minutes before leaves them restless as they sit in one of the common rooms, watching some movie. It’s a stupid B-flick that barely holds either of their attention. One he and Genji sneaked in since the sex scenes were supposed to be good. The media player is down, so they have to watch movies that are on actual discs, and this was one of the few they had. Really, it’s turning out to be a sappy rom-com that takes too long to get interesting, which leads to them talking.

About this, about that. About school, about Blackwatch, about everything. The movies scene shifts into a sex scene, and their conversation follows.

“I don’t get that,” she nods to the TV as her leg bounces. The couple on screen are having rough, pandering-to-the-audience sex. In an attempt to “blow off steam”, but really, it’s clear the two have feelings for each other.

“What?” He steals some popcorn from her bowl. “Casual sex?”

She slaps his hand away half-heartedly, an unsuccessful attempt at stopping him. “No. The whole falling in love with your ‘friend with benefits’. Like, they agreed to a no-strings-attached relationship. It’s _his_ fault he couldn’t keep it that way.”

He says something, mouth full of popcorn. It’s incomprehensible, so he repeats himself when he’s done. “You mean you wouldn’ catch feelings?”

“No!” She huffs. “They had an agreement. They should have stuck to it. If he couldn’t, it’s his fault. _He_ should of called it off instead of being jealous.”

He nods once, thinking it over. Yeah, he supposes he can see where she’s coming from. He reaches for another handful of popcorn, but she moves the bowl away in time. Jesse shoots a glare at her, only to find her smiling at the screen, thinking she’s won. Another unsuccessful attempt at theft has him irritated. Oh, now she’s gonna get it. “You’d catch feelings, and you know it.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she scoffs.

“Would too,” he smirks.

“Would _not."_

“Would _toooo."_

They go back and forth until she gets a handful of popcorn and stuffs it in his smug face. “Ya woul’ fall for da firs’ guy who gave ya a goo’ dic’in’,” he manages through his popcorn.

That earns him a glare and a sharp reminder to stop talking with his mouth full. Her attention shifts to the screen again, briefly. “I would _not,_ ” she affirms. It’s clear she doesn’t want to argue but wants to give up her position even less. “ _I’m_ in charge of _my_ feelings. If I were to break the agreement, I would cut it off. Or tell the other person. Like an adult.”

He barks out a laugh. “ _“Like an adult”_? Ya ain’t even eighteen yet.”  

She huffs. It’s somewhat of a sore subject, to be the youngest on the base. Well, except for Phara. “I’m basically an adult.” She looks at him to argue, and argue he does. Not like he has much else to do.

“Nah,” he shrugs. He watches her out of the corner of his eye. “Yain’t.”

Oh, he’s got her wound up, hears it in the hiss of _“I am”._ Her still being full of adrenaline from the mission isn’t helping. He can see it in her tense shoulders, her set jaw and the way she’s just a bit too interested in the screen as a way to ignore him. Now, it’s just time for her to snap. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

The bowl is slammed on the table, the adrenaline coursing through her fueling her more than her rational mind. “Fine! Let’s go.”

Both their eyes widen in equal surprise. A blush forms over her face as she realizes what she just said. She immediately starts back-tracking. “I didn’t mean that—I mean, not that I _wouldn’t,_ with you—you’re, like, attractive and all—it’s just, I’m just—you probably wouldn’t even want to with me—”

“I would.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. They both freeze, brown eyes meeting each other. An awkward silence falls upon them.

“What?” Her voice is disbelieving, and the shocked look she gives melts away into a shy smile and blush. She tries to be teasing, using that nickname he hates: “Really, Jess? You would?” It comes out shyer than she probably intended.

He nods dumbly. “Yeah, I mean, you ain’t ugly.”

She rolls her eyes, the air between them not so heavy anymore. More jovial now. “Wow, McCree. I’m _swooning."_

He chuckles before asking, “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“I mean, you’re _you_ and I’m... _me."_ The girl in front of him shrugs, avoiding his eyes. She seems to know that’s not really a satisfying answer. She bites her lip, eyes not meeting his as she continues; “Would you want to though? _Really_?”

He swallows. Really? Like really really? Like no-take-backs really? His hormonal-fueled teenage brain answers for him, “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

She nods, still blushing, “Me too.”

That’s what leads to her climbing onto his lap, legs on either side of him as she begins slowly. Maybe it’s a bit too quickly, but they’re young, impressionable teens. Both of them are still blushing, but can’t deny the obvious evidence of their arousal. Her hips move back and forth, inexperienced and focusing more on her own pleasure than his. It’s enough, though, as his white-knuckled grip on the couch will tell.

They don’t kiss or hold each other tightly. The closest they get is her arms brushing past him as she steadies herself with the back of the couch. He grips the edge of his seat, hesitant to control her pace. Right now, they’re inexperienced, 16 and 17 respectively, and both only chasing their own release. At first, at least.

Her gentle rocking is far, far too slow. He plants his feet firmly on the ground and thrusts upward, catching just the right spot. The stimulation is better, even through two pairs of jeans. Jesse closes his eyes and throws head back on the couch, trying to meet every rock of her hips. She seems to know this, and changes it up on purpose. Fast and bouncy one minute, slow and seductive the next.

He growls and the sound pulls a laugh from her. It’s breathy and fleeting, just like her voice when she cups his face and says, “I know I’m amazing, but try not to blow your load too soon, right? Not before we’ve gotten to the best part. Oh! And...” She smirks, recalling the movie continuing quietly in the background. “Try not to fall in love with me.”

He rolls his eyes at that, but can’t help the excited tremor that flows through him to his cock. And especially not the similar jolt of pleasure when she unbuckles both his pants and hers.

She stands up and shoves her jeans and panties off in one fatal swoop. No seductive edge, just trepidation-filled actions. He sits there, staring at her, as his dick strains his boxers. She crosses her arms, partly in embarrassment, partly to act annoyed. Looking into his clouded eyes makes warmth erupt in her stomach, but it’s easier than glancing downwards.

“Do I have to do _everything_ for you?” She huffs. He sits there, dumbfounded, until she pulls down his clothing. He doesn’t help much, save for the raise of his hips. Just to spite her. “You’re such a baby.”

She pushes his pants down past his knees. The keen air was once comforting, but no longer. He grabs her wrist. “Hurry up, I’m cold.”

“You wouldn’t be cold if you’d helped. Honestly, _I’m_ doing all the work.” The malice is missing from her words, and he gets the feeling she’s talking to hide her nerves. She sits on his lap nonetheless, resuming almost the same position as before.

Her non-dominant hands grips him, experimentally adding pressure and stroking once. It feels good, despite the jerky, untrained movements. Maybe because her hands are so soft, maybe because it’s just not his own. He hisses through his teeth, eyes fluttering closed as a groan passes through his lips. Her gaze stays on him, more curious than sensual. “We can’t have sex.”

His blissed out brain can’t come up with a reply better than, “Yeah, yeah, uh-huh.” But then he realizes what she said and does a double take.

She literally has him in the palm of her hand and she tells him no? Now that he’s felt someone else against him, he doubts his own hand will ever be enough again. What if this is it? The last time he ever gets off? Premature death of blue balls? Embarrassing for sure, if Reyes ever found out.

A pleasurable squeeze to his dick brings him back to present with a jerk of his hips. “What’d’ya mean?”

“Legally,” she smiles at his confused expression. She rolls her eyes in exasperation like she knew what he was thinking. The action is so familiar it’s calming. He rolls his eyes in turn. He’s from a Deadlock gang, and she’s part of an experimental team that’s letting _teenagers_ into their ranks: there’s a lot of stuff that they shouldn’t be doing, _legally._ Her other hand takes one of his and slides it up her thighs. “But we can do, um, _other_ stuff.”

“Oh.” The realization hits him. _“Ohhhh._  Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Then get movin’, cowboy.” She’s still hiding insecure movements behind bold words. Her hand is still unsteady as it moves, unsure of where to get the best reaction. He isn’t helping, basically a moaning mess trying to focus on pleasing her. That seems to reassure her, and she keeps a semi-steady pace.

His movements are definitely worse. Fingers find a wetness he’s intrigued by and, yeah, he has a basic understanding of female anatomy, but not much to go on. The wetness coats on his fingers as he traces over the plush skin around where she really wants him. He finds her opening and swiftly sticks two fingers in.

“Ah!” She cries out, and not in the pleasurable way either. The hand on his shoulder tightens considerably, just shy of actually painful, and he’s happy she stopped her ministrations. The way his dick bobbed in pleasure would've definitely been embarrassing.

“Sorry, sorry,” he hisses, immediately removing himself.

She shakes her head, “Just one at a time, yeah? Take it slow.” Her hand goes back, but slowed considerably, which makes it easier for him to concentrate. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss the hard and fast pace from before.

He goes back to his previous placement, middle finger slipping in, heeding her whisper of “Slow, slow.”

He pumps in and out, proud of the tightening grip on his shoulders and the labored breathes he gets. When he feels confident enough, he starts moving his finger around. She’s not even touching him anymore, but he’s too preoccupied to notice.

It’s an odd feeling, being inside her. Warm and wet and _so tight._  He can definitely see why guys go stir-crazy over this. Back in his Deadlock days, he remembers some men chasing tail every chance they got. Bragging about how good they were, enough that he got a pretty decent understanding of what was supposed to happen. That being said, he doesn’t have any bearings. Isn’t there supposed to be a certain spot...?

“F-first rodeo, cow— _ahh!_ — cowboy?” Her voice is definitely straining now. Her hands have moved to his shoulders to steady herself. They tighten occasionally, usually when he draws a gasp from her.

“Yeah,” he says, more self-conscious now. “Isn’t it yours?”

She nods, eyes closed. “But don’t you watch por—oh! Ohh, _Jessie!”_ While she’d been talking, he’d moved his thumb to find her clit. Thinking he’d hurt her again, he starts to draw back. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

His thumb circles it again, drawing wonderful sounds. Even though he’s not being touched at all, he finds himself getting off on getting _her_ off. Still, when her shaking hand finds his throbbing length, he’s far from disappointed.

His single finger continues working her. He’s enjoying the sounds he’s pulling from her, but isn’t there a specific place? A G-spot? That guys supposedly never find? If he could get that on his first time, he’d bask in pride forever.

Her other hand traces down his chest, keeping her upright as she rocks her hips minutely. She starts to get in a rhythm now, using the pre-cum she finds as lubricant. Her thumb flicks the tip, drawing a deep moan from him. Still, he doesn’t stop.

He keeps pumping, the pad of his finger running over the ridges of her. His hand is starting to hurt from the awkward position of having one finger raised for so long, but he doesn’t dare add another. Maybe it’d hurt less if he just curled a bit..?

The tightening of her hand on his dick and loud moan is enough to tell him he’s struck gold. “Jessie! There, there. Up a bit. Yeah, bit more. Fuck, fuck— _fuck._ Yes.” She instructs him accordingly on how to find it again, but once he’s got it, he hits it consistently.

He can feel her tightening around him: walls gripping so tight it’s hard to keep moving sometimes as her hand tightens around his cock too. Toeing the line of pleasure and pain, but definitely good.“Oh! ‘M sorry. Didn’t mean...” Her hand loosens its grip. He nods it off instead of telling her he might of just discovered a new kink of his. Well, two, of you count the way she says his name.

She starts stroking him again, losing the rhythm from before. Just fast and hard and everything he needs. He can’t help it when his hand slows and his hips start thrusting up. She whines but doesn’t stop her hand. Not when he warns her— a breathy _“Shit, darlin’”_ that draws a moan on its own. Not when white ribbons of cum shoot out of him and onto his shirt, not even when he hisses— pleasure toeing the line of pain as she continues her assault on his sensitive skin.

It’s only when he pushes her hand away that he’s given respite. She just sticks her tongue out. “That what you get, jerk. I was close.”

“Do I have to do everything for you?” He parrots her words.

She scoffs. “Rich, coming from the world’s biggest pillow princess.” Still, she starts moving away, shifting back, until one hand grabs her hip, the other finding its way between her legs again.

“Now, now. I’m a man of honor. And I never leave a lady hanging.” True, his mind might be a bit hazy, high off endorphins, but he means it. He reinserts a finger, which is welcomed by a shudder and cut off moan. She sounds like she’s about to say something, something about questioning his so-called “honor”, when he finds her clit again.

The sensation is good. Good enough to distract her from the awkward grip of her hip, or the uncertain way his eyes trail up and down her body, mostly still hidden by her shirt. Her hands find his shoulders again, gripping desperately as she tightens around him, on that precipice again. Just one last push...

She opens her eyes to find him, gaze traveling from his hand, pleasuring her, to her messed up shirt, to her wet lips, to eyes, only to dart back down to her lips once more. He licks his, almost subconsciously before looking at her again. That expression, of being wanted and lusted after, pushes her over.

“Jesse!” she calls, either in warning or pleasure. She tightens around him, muscles tense involuntarily. Her arousal coats his fingers, which are held in place by her convulsing body. Eyelids flutter closed and his name falls from her lips again in a hushed whisper. She moans one last time before biting her lip, muffling the sound. Her cheeks are tinged flushed and her hair flows around her, curls sticking to her skin. The sight is heavenly, he thinks as he tries to commit it to memory. Coming down from her high, she can’t support herself anymore, and falls down into his lap.

He gently removes his hand and she winces as the wetness is pulled across her inner thigh. Eyes still closed, heat still high in her cheeks, her chest heaves. Her hair falls limply around her, sticking to her face in places as she leans against him. He can feel her puffs of breath, the rise and fall of her breasts against him. The image is intoxicating, Jesse realizes. Better than a feeling or physical pleasure. It’s... it’s... “Beautiful.”

His admission brings her back to the present. She sits up, brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes open and, though more tired than normal, still hold that teasing fire, mixed with a hint of something else. She stares at him just long enough that he wonders what she’s thinking. He can practically see the wheels turning in her head. Then that moment passes, and she’s back to teasing him. “In love with me yet?”

“Naw,” he smirks. “Just your hand.”

She pushes him away, hand accidentally touching some not-yet-dried remnants of his orgasm. “Ew,” she grimaces.

With her other hand, she pulls the hem of his shirt up expectantly. “Take it off,” she replies to his confused expression.

“Round two already?” He teases but does as she asks. Really he doesn’t know why she wants it, but in the post-orgasm haze, he doesn’t really care. She could ask him just about anything from him, and he’d do it.

She rolls her eyes as she cleans her hand and the area around his dick. Surprisingly gentle, and still blushing. “Down, boy. Though, I suppose I understand: I am the best you’ve ever had.” It’s not phrased as a question, but when she looks up, she’s curious. Looking for confirmation.

He chuckles and nods. “Not a hard achievement.” It comes out flatter than he intended since he’s captivated by her dragging the material of his shirt in between her legs. The black fabric a stark contrast as she cleans away the area.

She follows his line of sight, slapping his chest lightly. “Perv,” she murmurs. Her hand awkwardly slides down his bare chest before being pulled against her own. Her soft voice is a bit hoarse. Jesse’s realizes he’s still holding her hips, fingers running absent circles against her. The moment is more intimate than either of them intended.

“I’m going to go take a shower.” She pulls away, standing up with finality. She doesn’t wait for a reply as she searches for something. Dark pants are replaced after she lays down his shirt. He taps his foot against the ground, trying not to watch her. That’d be weird, right?

She tried to make herself look presentable. “You should too. You’re all sweaty and gross.” Yeah, he is, but he does little to remedy that. Or even pull up his pants. She seems unsurprised by that, but he’s just amazed that she’s able to think straight. He sure can’t. Save for maybe getting something to eat.

 _“I’m not in love with you!”_ The female protagonist cries in the rain. The movie had been all but forgotten, but the exasperated shout is too loud to ignore.

She laughs. “I’m not in love with you,” she tells him. She tries to be teasing, but a blush covers her cheeks as he’s still sitting there, basically naked. The shirt she took from him is thrown on his lap. “Can’t you cover up?”

“And deprive you? C’mon, I ain’t that mean.” He stretches his arms along the back of the couch. Huh, he feels kind of tired. Maybe food can wait.

“Some southern gentlemen you are.” She’s already leaving for the door, and he can do little more than laugh.

He stays like that for a little while. Listens to the guy desperately trying to convince her of his loyalty or whatever, until he supposes Reyes should be back from his own mission soon. Best not be found like this.

He finally pulls his pants up, re-buckling them. Absently, he notes they keep falling. He’s just thinking he should probably invest in a belt when something bright pink catches his eyes. Something with frilly green trimmings and frog print. How the hell did she forget her underwear? Whatever. He stuffs it into his pocket— it’d be horrid if someone found them— with a chuckle. Shoot, they’re kinda cute.

 _“But I love you!”_ The man on the screen is saying. _“Can’t you see you mean the worl—”_

McCree ejects the disc and turns off the TV. Seems like everyone else had it all wrong. Casual sex ain’t hard. He grabs his shirt, slings it over his shoulder, and whistles his way to his room. Ain’t hard at all.

* * *

The next morning isn’t awkward. She greets him the same she always does, bright, happy, and in the same breath as Genji. He knows he’s not in love because her cheery voice is nearly grating at five in the morning. The ninja just nods, but McCree takes the chance to complain that it’s too damn early. She reminds him they have to get up this early, which he counters by saying they wouldn’t have to if they stayed home all together. Genji just leads them to the door, having heard this argument far too many times before.

He nods once more as they leave for the washed-out yellow bus that’s waiting for them. She wishes him a good day, promises they’ll be back soon. He thinks it sounds more like she’s talking to one of her dogs than a human. To be fair, he thinks he’s heard them say the same amount of words. At least the puppers speak on command. He doesn't even know why Genji comes out to see them off. He doesn’t talk, or wave even. Maybe it’s his way of gloating; he finished his schooling a year early and gets to stay on-base all day. Still, the way he’s ever silent is creepy. He tells her this and she swats at him, hitting his chest.

“He’s still adjusting.” He wants to say something, comment on how they’re both the same age and she doesn’t baby _him,_  but the way she hit him was so reminiscent of last night and—

No, no, no. don’t think about it. The images ran through his mind last night while he was in the shower, and the pleasure he sought by his own hand wasn’t nearly as good as her. He can’t start here, even if they are alone. He starts complaining again to get his mind off it.

Realistically he knows they have to get up early to be the first people on the bus; no one in their high school can see them being picked up from an Overwatch Watchpoint. But it’s still dark outside. Even the driver looks less than pleased by her chipper attitude.

She waves off his sour mood. “C’mon, aren’t you excited? We’re _upperclassmen."_

“We’ve _been_ upperclassmen.” He’s well into his senior year, and her, her junior. The number of times they’ve actually been _at_ school this year he can count on one hand. Between missions and training, they barely show up enough to not be considered delinquents. Ana’s been forcing them to go more often since midterms are coming up, and, like a doting mother, she wants them to bring home good grades. He’s countered that he wouldn’t have to worry about his grades if he just didn’t go, but Reyes said he wouldn’t have a high school drop-out on his team.

“It’s not like he has a lot of choices,” he finds himself saying, glaring out the window at nothing in particular. He doesn’t have to preface himself; this is an old wound. “What? A questionably moral doctor, a half-omnic thing, and an ex-gang member. And you, ‘course.”

“I think you mean an excellent healer, a super cool cyborg ninja, and the best shot in Overwatch.” She nudges his arm, smiles, and lets her sentence hang just long enough that he thinks she’s actually being considerate. “And you, of course.”

He rolls his eyes, aware of the bus driver glancing back them, probably confused as to why being a good shot is a compliment to these teens. He never notices how odd he must seem to other people until he’s confronted with it. Doesn't even realize how odd it is to notice things— people's stares lingering too long, for instance— until it’s obviously pointless, and only a gut reaction.

“The school year is almost half-over. You should enjoy it while you can. _Or,"_ she cuts off his argument before he even opens his mouth. “take solace in knowing five more months is all you have left. And! This year we get to go to prom!”

“That’s what you’re excited about?” He deadpans. He’d much rather continue talking about Blackwatch, how it could evolve, but the bus stops to let on more students, so he has to let it drop. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches three freshmen, a fellow senior he never talked to, and a sophomore get on. Instinctively, he makes a note on where they sit, glad to be able to see them from the back of the bus.

“Yeah! I heard, this year’s theme is going to be a masquerade.” She pauses and fiddles with her backpack. Just long enough that she can subtly look over the cluster of students that just boarded. Huh, seems like it’s second nature for her too. “Are you going?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, no.” He isn’t really as invested in extracurriculars as her. She sees school as an alter ego, like she’s some sort of superhero. He sees it as an annoyance. Ana nurtures her love for education, and he thinks she secretly hopes she’ll choose to go to college. Doesn't want her to get tangled up in the feud between Reyes and Morrison. The old sniper really does care about her.

“Well, I am.” The bus stops again. Four juniors, two freshmen, another sophomore. A couple wave back at them— well, more her— and she responds. He doesn't know who they are, but it’s unavoidable; they’re decently popular. He got in a fight his sophomore year and beat a senior to a pulp and that legacy never really left him. She has a more friendly reputation, best known from the sports and the various clubs she’s in. Add to that their unexplained absences, and people can’t help but talk when they finally _do_ show up.

His phone chimes in his pocket. He has two text messages: one from a group chat with Ana and her, which has Ana wishing them both a good day, and another from a group chat with Reyes, Moria, and Genji. Reyes tells them they have to take the bus home. Another two messages pop up: Moria dutifully reminding them this is supposed to be for emergencies, and Genji asking if they had any more tea.

She leans in close to him to read the messages over his shoulder, smiling when she does. She rests her chin on his shoulder, hair tickling the beginnings of a beard. She says something about the ninja’s precious tea, but it’s lost.

The bus is filled with loud talking, effectively making it hard to have a private conversation since they would need to shout to be heard. She pulls out a book, one with so many cracks in the spine it’s hard to believe no pages have fallen out, and begins to read. He watches the world go by. She doesn't move from her spot against him, and he finds he doesn't mind, but he’s definitely _not_ in love. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classic massage porno-type trope. And? Plot beginnings? Maybe??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to update every week, so every Thursday for me. 
> 
> Also thanks to some helpful criticism from comments in the last chapter, I went back and re-edited it a little bit. Nothing too much, as in you have to go back and re-read it because it's totally different, but just some small things to make the story more inclusive. And some grammar error because yikes, there was a lot. 
> 
> Also also, this story's tags will be updated as the chapters progress, but just in case you're wondering, the tags pertaining to this chapter are: 
> 
> classic massage leading to smut trope, mutual masturbation, first kisses

The following weeks have everything back to normal. They’re forced to attend school at least once a week, per Ana’s request and Reyes’ order. Jesse notes that she goes as often as she can, even if it’s only an hour to collect or turn in her work. She grabs his too, which steadily collects on his desk faster than he can do it. Training is as grueling as ever and leaves him sore, tired, and occasionally wishing to be sitting through a lecture rather than training. The commander works them at every possible minute, looking for only the best and pushing them past their comfort zones. So, business as usual. 

There’s been no mention of that night from her, but he is noticing her casual touches more often. If it’s something new she’s started doing, or something he’s started noticing, he isn’t sure, but neither of them says anything about it. The only mention of anything even close, was when Reyes asked him if he had watched a movie after the mission. 

“Yeah, I did,” Jesse had replied, sounding more confrontational than he intended. He had caught her eye across the table, where she had been eating her cereal. Her conversation with Genji stopped, and the table became very quiet. 

“Yeah?” Reyes had sounded slightly surprised by his tone, but more annoyed than anything. Genji, sitting next to her, had picked up on it too and tilted his head. Less out of curiosity (which would have been just like a damn dog) and more like he was waiting. Seeing what McCree would do. Wondering if he’d get breakfast and a show. Reyes didn’t seem to notice. “Just pick up your popcorn next time. I’m not here to clean your shit.”

Jesse just nodded, silently breathing in relief. He could only assume she had done the same, but when he had looked up at her, she was already speaking to Genji in slow Japanese, trying to learn from his blunt, short instruction. 

That had been the only mention of that night. But the evidence of it was far from gone: sitting in the back of his bottom drawer were pink underwear, which Jesse had yet to give back. Originally his plan had been to slip it into the wash, but whenever he tried, someone was there. It was almost comical the way he was thwarted at every turn. So now, they sat guiltily in his dresser. 

He didn’t have time to think about anything else much as Reyes, somehow, increased training tenfold. Mornings were filled by a run, then an hour of cardio. Breakfast, then strength training for another two hours, followed by an hour break. That would have been a nice respite, except Genji had made a snide remark about Jesse being tired after all of this, since  _ he  _ would go for  _ another  _ run, so obviously Jesse did too. After that, he had to study for midterms, ice down his sore muscles (out of sight from the cyborg, thank you very much), which left him with just enough time to not relax before an afternoon of sparring. 

He was thrown to the ground by all the members of Blackwatch enough that he was sure he’d left a Jesse McCree-shaped indent on the sparring mat. His fighting style was never up-close-and-personal, preferring to shoot before anyone had the chance to go hand-to-hand. When he was forced into combat, he’d resorted to dirty tricks. Reyes had assured him that wasn’t going to be tolerated, so now he was stuck trying to play catch up. An afternoon’s worth of being slammed into a mat was lovingly called “practice”.

Follow that with a short break, then it was back to the training room for some “team-building exercises”. This meant Genji begrudgingly following Reyes’ orders, and Reyes’ orders only, leaving everyone else to cover each other until he’d taken out enough bots to make Torbjorn’s turrets jealous. Only when the boss was content that everyone was becoming adjusted to Genji’s “fighting style”, would they be dismissed. He didn’t know where everyone else went, but Jesse nursed his bruises and sore muscles with as much ice he could steal from the cafeteria. 

After a week and a half of this, the kitchen refused to give him anymore. Said he could use an ice pack if he needed it so badly. That left him in an irritable mood, sulking to Mercy’s office to ask for one. But, when he got there, she said she’d given all of them away. Seems like Reyes wasn’t the only one working his team to the bone. The doc recommended Ana, who had sadly reported the same thing, and sent him to Moria.

After nearly half an hour of running across the base, and another fifteen minutes of arguing, pleading, and threatening to try and get one of the good ice packs from Moria, he left with one of the shitty gel ones, which was arguably worse than what he started. 

Which led him here, laying on his bed with his back aching and quickly heating up the poor excuse of relief. A knock sounded on his door, and he could do little more than groan that it was open. Even if Jack Morrison himself came to his room, he was too tired to care. 

The sound of his door sliding open then shut again. “Heard the kitchen cut your supply off.” He groaned in agony, too exhausted to even give her the decency of opening his eyes. “Well, if you’re asleep, guess you won’t be needing this.” 

He was just about to agree, he didn’t need whatever she had, just the sweet release of death, when the tell-tale sound of ice rattling in a bag was shaken in her hand. His eyes snapped open. “Where—? How did you—?” 

“The kitchen is still giving out ice if you ask for it, to everyone except you.” He can now see that she carries a large bag of ice in one hand, a dark blue balm in the other. “You’ve nearly run them dry.” 

Running out? Sounds like bullshit. “Jus’ freeze water. It ain’t hard.” He winces as he reaches a hand out. 

She clicks her tongue softly, chastising him. “I saw you get thrown by Genji today, you’re bound to have a bruise. Which is why I have this.” She lifts the glass container slightly, just enough that he can see the Overwatch insignia on one side, the medic’s cross on the other. “Something to help, from Angela.” 

“He’s too damn fast,” is all he says in his defense. He’s already laying on his stomach, back up. That’s where the worst of his bruising is, besides the one across his ribs. “Whatever you made for him, it’s too good.” 

She smiles, detecting the compliment. She was helping Torb with the cybernetics of their ninja, trying to get him back to his deadly precision again. “Isn’t fast a good thing? Take off your shirt.” 

He struggles to sit up, tense muscles screaming in protest. “I’m starting to think you just like seeing me without a shirt, darlin’.” 

“I’m here for that too,” she remarks, and he’s pretty sure that’s flirting. Still, she hasn’t moved from her mid-point in the room, hands fidgeting with the ice. Only once he lays down does she move, placing the ice down on the bedside table. She plays with the brim of his hat, fidgeting. She moves it just enough so he can see the first three digits: nine fifty-something. “Do you mind if I…?” 

He’s not sure what she’s asking, but he can assume. “Naw,” he says, voice thick with that Southern accent that seems to kick up to ten when he’s tired. She moves to straddle the small of his back, carefully keeping her weight off him. It’s something he’s happy for, since he’s rather sore right now. 

She opens the jar, which smells slightly of lavender and shea butter. She applies it to her hands and works it into a lather before pressing it against him. She starts on the left side, where there’s no visible bruises, just strained muscle. 

“This is bad,” she comments, and he’s inclined to agree. He’s seen himself in the mirror; dark shades of purple mix with a deep blue that stretch nearly from hip to shoulder to ribs, in some places. That ninja seems to take joy in throwing him to the ground. Maybe he knows Jesse’s been comparing him to a dog. Or maybe he’s just mad at the world. 

The balm is soothing, and even though this is one of the most cliche starts to a porno, he’s more relaxed than anything. The medicine is cool, and is worked into his skin like a cream. Already, he can feel the wounds healing. Mercy sure did work magic. 

“I can’t believe you left the popcorn out,” she snickered. Deft hands carefully trace the bruise on his back, fingertips so light they’re barely there. 

“An’ I can’t believe you left your underwear behind,” he teases. Her hands still, and he can feel her tense up. He almost wishes he hadn’t said anything, because he’d grown accustomed to the caress of her hands. He feels cold without it. 

“I— um,” she sputters, either trying to think of a response or realizing her mistake. “You grabbed them, right?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “‘Like the frogs.” 

She applies a bit more pressure than is necessary, making him wince. It’s not on the blooming bruise and between sore spots, meaning it could hurt a lot more. Probably not an accident; she seems to know where to apply pressure. “Say, where’d you get so good at this?”

“Oh, I, um, I don’t know. I’m just doing whatever feels right.” She laughs, half-disbelieving, half-nervous. “It actually feels good?” He doesn’t reply as her hands work up his back, nearly to his shoulders when she gets tired of straddling him. She rests her weight on him, which causes something to pop in a pleasing way. The appreciative groan he lets out causes her hands to stop for just a moment. 

“ _ Jess _ ,” she hisses. “Don’t do that.”

“Do wha’?” He mumbled. Whatever it was, she can’t be too mad, since she used the nickname she gave him. Besides, he’s more focused on the way her hands grip his shoulders, working them more roughly than his back. It reminds him of the other time she had a tight grip on him like that, which sends heat rushing downwards. 

“That— that  _ thing _ .” He doesn’t even need to see her to know she’s blushing. Still, it’s a pleasing sight when he turns his head and sees her glaring off to the right, face as flushed as can be. “Nevermind.”

She moves her hands back down, focusing more on the task as an excuse to ignore him. Expert hands work their way to the small of his back, where it really looks worse than it is. Still, she’s careful in the pressure she applies. Like he’s going to break. She keeps glaring, watching looking at the fading bruise until she can’t avoid his fixed stare. When she finally meets his chestnut eyes, he keeps eye contact with her for a moment before letting out a drawn out moan. 

Her reaction is instantaneous: eyes widen, jaw drops slightly, more blood rushing to her face. It’d be almost comical if she didn’t also dig her hands into his back applying more pressure than before in the perfect amount. The sound of pleasure he lets out is much more real. Head falling forward and eyes closing, he can only imagine what her reaction is. 

“Jesse McCree,” she warns. “You stop it  _ right now.” _

“Sorry, darlin’,” he shrugged, not sorry at all. “You just work some damn fine magic with them hands of yours.” He doesn’t realize the euphemism until he’s said it, until he can’t take it back. Now he’s  _ sure _ that’s flirting. 

“I hate you,” she whispers. If she thinks he’s playing with her, she’s not wrong. But he’s also testing to see how far this will go. He’s got a growing reminder between his legs that tells him it needs to be taken care of, preferably with the girl on top of him. Her hands falter more as she continues, more because it would be awkward to stop. By now, the bruise is completely gone, still sore, but not hurting as bad as before. She continues until the balm is removed from her hands, and he wishes she would either leave him to deal with his  _ problem _ alone, or stay and help. 

“I’m, um, gonna… go.” She nods, seemingly agreeing with herself, before collecting the half-empty jar. He watches as she moves off the bed. He would let her go if it hadn’t been for the way she bites her lip, color high in the cheeks. She’s not embarrassed. Far from it actually. 

He’s oddly confident when he reaches out to grab her hand, settling for wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “Why don’t you stay, darlin’?” Jesse shifts, no longer at an odd angle. Sitting up, she can clearly see the reason why he wants her to stay. With it all out on the table, it’s her decision. 

Teeth make indentations on her pretty lips as thoughts run through her head a mile a minute. He can almost see the debating thought process in her head. When she finally nods, Jesse follows her instinct and pulls her closer. She falls easily, not expecting it, and their lips meet inelegantly. Still, he’d be lying if he said her plush lips weren’t as soft as they looked. When she regains her balance, she pushes him away, almost aggressively. 

She glances back to the door. Closed, but unlocked. Her face is still flushed when she looks back at him. “I’ve never…” 

He blinks. She’s kissed someone before, hasn’t she? Sure, he had his first kiss when he was pretty young— the ripe age of fourteen— but she’s nearly three years older than that. In the Deadlock gang, fourteen had been seen as late. Still, the shy way she’s looking at him confirms it. He  _ does not  _ feel his dick twitch at how innocent she looks, and  _ definitely does not  _ feel his heart skip a beat from the bashful smile she gives him. 

“Well, then, darlin’,” he smiles, voice thick with that Southern drawl. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He cups her face and pulls her closer again, more gently this time. Tilting his head is a natural response when her lips softly meet his again. He takes his time, letting her adjust. To distract himself from the way he’s definitely  _ not _ straining in his pants, he notices in the small things: the way her lashes flutter against him, her shaky exhale of breath, how he can almost feel her heart hammering. When her hand tentatively finds his face, meeting the stubble there, he locks their lips. 

She seems comfortable with this, if the way she brings her other hand around him is any indication. Her arm encircles him, boldly pulling him closer. He takes this as an incentive to trace his tongue across her lips. Maybe the wrong move, because she pulls away, panting. Her face definitely heated as her chest heaves, but she’s smiling, so he feels confident enough to tease her. 

“Take it easy now. Wouldn’ want you fallin’ in love with me.” She ignores him in favor of setting the balm down next to the melting ice and quickly locking the door. All the while, her fingers trace her lips, still grinning. She hesitates only a minute before sliding into his lap. She’s tall— slightly taller than him, as she won’t let him forget— so he has to look up at her. Fine by him, because he can lean into the crook of her neck easily. She smells like vanilla and flowers and something all her own, and  _ goddamnit, no stupid  dick. _

“You smell nice,” he whispers against her. He can feel her pulse, beating rapidly, but she seems calmer than before. Even so, it’d be good to wrap his arms around her, holding her just close enough. So she doesn’t fall, of course. 

She laughs, a light, breathy sound that he feels just as much as he hears. “Jess, stop, that tickles.” He doesn’t, and is tempted to leave a kiss when his  lips meet the  soft  skin next to her pulse point. He traces patterns along her back, not moving otherwise. He waits until he feels her heartbeat steady, until she speaks again. “Can we, uh, you know…” 

He’s grown so accustomed to her blushing face that he’s not surprised to see it when he looks up again. He’d like to tease her, but she moves against him, locking their lips once more. He wastes no time opening his mouth and letting his tongue dart out. Though she hesitates, she mirrors the gesture, deepening the kiss. As he does so, he pushes her shirt up slightly, just enough to allow himself to touch the soft skin of her waist. 

She becomes more confident too, one hand cupping his face. Her thumb runs over the unshaved shadow he takes so much pride in before combing through his hair. It’s an oddly nice sensation. She keeps a respectful distance, still mindful that he’s shirtless. The slow pace is nice, and he could hold her like this forever— not because he likes her, just because it’s been a while— but his tight pants remind him that he should lead his focus elsewhere. 

It’s not helped when he moves one hand to the small of her back, causing her to arch into him. Almost on purpose, her hips brush against him, and they both release sounds of pleasure. She pulls away again, panting once more. But this time, her eyes are dark, clouded with lust as her lips shine with the remnants of the heated kissing. She looks down at him, probably finding much the same thing, and he knows he’s on a very short leash. She looks divine. 

_ “Jesse,”  _ she breathes.  _ “Please.”  _

Like a wire snapped, he turns her over, laying her down onto the bed. Her hair halos around her on his own pillow where he had just been, and she reaches out for him, silently asking. He obliges, meeting her once more, rougher than before. As frantic lips meet, they move to accommodate the new position. She opens her legs, allowing him to fall against her in a way that’s too good to be accidental. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her against him so that they touch as much as possible, even if it is through a layer of clothing. 

He doesn’t even realize where her hands are until his pants are pushed down, awkwardly stopped by how he keeps his hips so close to her. “Anxious, doll?” He doesn’t get a response, not an intelligible one. Just her cursing him for not moving faster. He chuckles at that, but moves to undo her pants all the same. To stay focused, he stops kissing her long enough to shed her jeans, head repositioned against her neck. This time, he does place a kiss there and takes pride in the way she shivers. 

Once she’s bare from the waist down, she recaptures his lips briefly, before slipping a hand down her own body to touch herself. He pulls back just enough to watch, and  _ damn _ is he happy he does. The sight is intoxicating, and he can’t help the way his cock twitches when her fingers slide into her wetness, dripping and needy. 

“Woah,” She whispers. She’s wide-eyed and gazing at his dick before looking at him. She looks half-curious, half-amazed as she explains, “It moved.” 

He can’t help his laugh. “Yeah.” He catches her lips again, just because she’s so irresistibly cute. “Does that.” She’s still staring at his crotch expectantly, and he tightens his abdomen. Once more, his dick bobs, and she seems just as impressed. 

He places kisses across her cheek and down her neck as she reaches out to stroke him. “You can do, like, tricks? With your dick?” He laughs again. She’s seen him shoot down targets with deadly aim, hit something when it’s barely visible, and this is what awes her? She’s a weird one, that’s for sure. He tells her so. “Well, I don’t know. It’s not like I have tons of experience.” 

Still, she seems to remember what she had been doing and inserts her finger again. The sound of wet squelching shouldn’t have been as enticing as it was, and for it, she’s rewarded with his cock shuddering once more. She whines and bucks up against him. “Jessie,” she whispers again. “Please.” 

“What, doll?” Her eyes are squeezed shut, mouth agape  as  his name falls from her lips. He can’t think for a moment, can’t even process her begging. The only thought he has is  _ goddamn.  _

“Can you…?” She seems embarrassed to say, which is ironic, considering she’s fingering herself right in front of him. He doesn’t get the hint so, with a huff, she grabs one of his hands that was supporting him and brings it to her entrance. It throws him off balance, almost falling on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she redirects him so they meet halfway in a kiss that’s more teeth and soft bites than anything else. 

Obediently, he slips his finger into her again and retraces his movements. Now that he has some idea of what he’s doing, he’s better at it, if only slightly. At the very least, more confident. That confidence only grows as she gasps underneath him, his name thrown in until a broken moan escapes, clearly by accident. She looks to the door like she expects someone to burst in, but it remains closed. 

“Relax. Everyone’s asleep.” Probably. The clock is still partially covered, but it reads eleven something, so they’re probably fine. Especially if everyone’s been training as hard as Blackwatch has. He brings her back to the moment by slipping another finger into her, curling both to try to find that spot from before. It’s clear when he does, as her back arches off the bed, and he slows down just in case. 

She nods, valiantly trying to carry on a conversation. “I know… It’s just that I’m…” He shushes her, assuring her that yes, he does know, to calm her. Really, his brain is half-dead, filled with the image of her legs wrapped around him. His cock is weeping so bad it’s close to dripping on her, and that definitely shouldn’t send a pleasurable shudder through him, but it does. 

He leans back a bit, just enough to rest on his legs. That frees up his other hand, which immediately wraps around himself. His strokes are as rough and uncoordinated as hers had been, and bring him closer than he already had been. His thumb brushes against her clit, rubbing circles on it until she has to cover her mouth to quiet herself. He feels her squeeze his fingers, and he hopes that means what he thinks it does. 

“Close— Are ya close, darlin’?” She nods, hair bobbing with the movement. He feels kinda bad for finishing first last time, so he slows his hand, keeping himself of that precipice, but not falling over. He watches as she writhes under his ministrations, one hand scratching into his arm, the other grasping at his sheets, which moves to pull him by the neck. 

He’s more prepared than last time, so he easily meets her as she moans into his mouth, the outline of his name brushed across his lips. When she cums, it’s with a shudder, body almost completely leaving the bed as her back curves upwards. The moan only slightly muffled against him is music to his ears. 

When she finally falls back down, it leaves him in a curved position over her. Wasting no time, he removes his hand, still covered in the evidence of her ecstasy, and wraps it around him. Happy to have his dominant hand back, he begins bucking his hips, the slick helping him move. He’s poised in such a way that his hand rests over her pubic bone, almost like he would be fucking her. 

“Damn, Jesse,” she whispers. One hand traces his hip bone, partially following the line of his V. The way she looks at him, blissed out and taking everything in, is enough to push him over the edge. He cums in quick spurts, to the sound of his name being whispered to him and her soft hand encouraging him. 

He falls next to her, not caring about his state of undress. Not even when she whines, “Jess!” And complains about her ruined shirt, or he’s all sweaty and gross. In retaliation, he pulls her closer, making sure she’s cornered by his chest and arm. She laughs as she tries to pull away. “Nooo!” Her laughter mixes with his and lasts longer until it bubbles out, content.

He gives her some tissues, stationed near his bed for… convenience. At least that what he says, to her questioning glance. She cleans them both up the best she can as he closes his eyes and rests against her. He’s not sure what is supposed to happen next. Anytime a member of Deadlock brought someone back, they were sent away right after the fact. But that doesn’t sit well with him. This, however? Holding her close, in his bed, soft breathing the only sound as his post-orgasmic mind drifts off? This feels right. 

“What next?” He looks at her. Maybe he’s overstepping his boundaries, basically trapping her to him. But, besides the initial half-hearted protest, she hasn’t made an attempt to leave. 

“Shower. That seems to be becoming a common thing with you. And I’m kind of hungry.” She smiles. He likes the way she’s less guarded after, and it’s something he missed before. Still, she’s dancing around the subject. “But… we’re not dating, right?” He shakes his head, no. “Good. Gabe would probably kill us.” 

“Damn  _ pendejos _ ,” he mimics the gruff commander. “You’re dates are cuttin’ inta our twenty-hour training. Drop and give me twenty.” 

They laugh again, far longer than is necessary. And even after that, neither of them move for a good while, until she decides she has to shower. He offers his, since it’s attached to his room, and she agrees on the condition that he gets her clothes from her room. After that, everything is basically decided and falls into an odd but not unwelcome sense of domesticality. Sneaking to her room and back isn’t hard; everyone seems to be asleep and it’s not that far away— just a floor down. 

After they both shower, it’s decided they’ll sneak into the kitchen. They have a lengthy debate about it, in which she says she’s going to the kitchen, and that he has to come with her because it’s dark and if she’s attacked by monsters, he’s the sacrifice. He follows that up with “Okay.” 

The communal refrigerator yields nothing, but the “Commander’s Only” freezer reveals Reyes bought ice cream: triple brownie chocolate with cookie batter chunks mixed in.  _ Unopened _ . That’s enough for her to chalk this night up to a success. She says she’ll eat it in her room, so neither of them gets caught, but he asks for just a spoonful, which leads to her opening it. Even after he gets his share, neither of them leave.

“In love with me yet, cowboy?” She asks as her feet swing from her place on the counter. 

“Not even close,” he grins, eyeing the pint in her hand. “Just kinda jealous you know the code to the commander’s secret stock.” 

She shrugs. “He asked me to get him his water once. Never changed the code.” Another spoonful of ice cream is eaten before she continues. “I’m not madly in love with you either, sorry.” 

He slaps the counter in mock-anger. “Damn. I’m trying to compete with Genji for number of hearts broken. Only down by one, so why don’t you take one for the team?” 

She shoves his shoulder lightly. “No way. Besides, you still got time, I hear he’s trying to woo Angela.” 

“No shit.” She nods, confirming herself. “Well, if he stays at it, he might get laid just in time to celebrate his seventieth birthday. ‘S not like she’s gonna—” 

He’s cut off by a spoonful of chocolate. It really  _ was _ good. Better than anything he’d had in Santa Fe or here. Where did Reyes find it? Definitely not in any of the local stores. And why didn’t he buy some more? At least for the rest of his team? “I think she likes him. As a friend at least. Start off as friends, then one falls head-over-heels for the other.” She sends him a knowing look. “How you doin’ on the love-o-meter?”

He pretends to think about it. As if his answer would change so soon. “Solid zero. But my answer might change if you give me the rest of that.” 

“Think I’m fine, thanks.” She kicks her feet some more, watching them sway above the tile. “I’ll make you a deal.” She waits until he nods, listening. “If I fall in love with you, besides eternal bragging rights, I’ll give you ten dollars.” 

He thinks about it, leaning against the counter. One hand reaches for the brim of his hat, an unconscious habit, until he realizes he’s not wearing it. “Why ten dollars?” 

“That should buy at least three more of these.” She raises the ice cream before taking another spoonful. “Plus a dollar to bribe Gabe to tell us where he got it. And if I win, you’ll give the same to me.” She swirls her spoon around, drawing some nonsensical pattern in the chocolate. “This is a risky investment for me, you must understand. You’re in much safer conditions.”

“Risky? How?” 

“I don’t even think you  _ have _ ten dollars.” She laughs at her own jibe and feeds him another spoonful before he can argue. Ha! As if that could stop him. 

“Ah foo  _ ‘oo _ haf hen ‘ol’lars,” he protests. In retribution, he steals another spoonful. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Still, she holds the container out to him. “So? Do we have a deal.” 

He starts to speak again but is cut off by her glare. Dutifully, he makes a show of chewing the chocolate swirl and swallowing before talking. “Twenty. Reyes ain’t giving that information up for a buck.” 

“Maybe not for you.” She hops off the counter, replacing the lid then the ice cream itself. “Alright. It’s a deal.” They shake on it. 

“I take cash or checks,” he grins as they walk out of the kitchen, making their way to the elevators. The stairs are too far away as an alternative. That’s what he tells her, at least. In all honesty, his room is closer to the elevators than the stairs. 

She presses the down arrow when they arrive, yawning. “And I take public forms of humiliation and begging for forgiveness.” The ding signals the end of the night. “Good night, Jess. Don’t forget, we have a morning briefing with Jack.” 

He rolls his eyes. “How could I? I’ve been looking forward to it all week.” She gets into the elevator, yawning again. “G’night, doll.”   



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m the AO3 cryptic: I leave for a month, throw trash at you, then disappear for another 30 days. 
> 
> The sin in this chapter:  
> oh no they're hiding in a closet, dry humping grinding, dirty talk, cacahuète means peanut

Jack Morrison was annoying most of the time, always saying _“Cigarettes and whiskey aren’t necessity items, McCree, and you’re too young anyway”_ and _“doing tricks isn’t a good enough reason to have your gun out in the base”_ and other pointless things. Other than that, he’s bearable for the most part. But now? About an hour and a half into a meeting, going over the protocols for surveillance? He was practically unbearable. Jesse liked to think he was smart enough to know how to watch someone. 

They’d already discussed their target: one Antonio Bartalotti or Antonio Giordani or whatever he wanted to be called. Some illegal arms dealer, maybe. Get in, figure out what’s happening, don’t get caught. Transfer that data to the tablets in front of them. Done and done and thirty minutes tops _._ But both Jack and Gerard thought it best to lay out in detail how important this was. 

Gabe was pissed— anyone could see that. Jesse could understand why; this was his operation, and these two were telling him how to run it. Still, Jesse didn’t know why he didn’t just call this meeting off instead of continuing to sit here. Genji looked pissed, per usual, and Moria seemed perpetually unperturbed. The only person who seemed as bored as he was sat across from him, head in her hand. 

At least she was trying to pretend to pay attention, eyes flicking to the presentation screen when it changed. They were sitting furthest back, opposite sides of the long table, and mostly shrouded in shadow. 

He pulled up the messenger on the tablet. _“Bored. When do you think we’ll be done?”_

Her screen didn’t light up or give a notification, but she saw it anyways. If anything, that was good. It means they had a less likely chance of getting caught. Genji was on his left and didn’t seem like the type to pry or be interested in anything Jesse was doing in general. Moria, sitting next to the girl currently typing away, was turned away, completely facing the screen. 

_“This is so unprofessional. We’re supposed to be paying attention.”_

He rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure Jack was carrying on the meeting just to get on Gabe’s nerves. A pretty dick move, if you asked him; Morrison knew how much this meant to him, and how he’d stomach anything for the team he’d been working toward for more than two years. _“Keeping us here is unprofessional. Borderline sadistic. Jack coulda emailed this to us.”_

Almost to prove his point, Jack repeated the same message he’d been saying for nearly two hours now: “The secrecy of Blackwatch is of the utmost importance. Again, allow me to reiterate my point…”

 _“We got to tough it out for the Commander. It’s way worse for him.”_ The reply message said. A moment later, a second one came. _“He’s like an NPC that just repeats his dialogue all over again.”_

_“Speaking of vid games, can I come over and play some? I heard the ninja got you some remastered games that came out like 70 years ago.”_

_“Fallout. Ya. Rein was talking about them. Is that your pick up line? No Netflix and Chill?”_

He smiled lightly. Looking up to check if anyone was watching them, and… nope, undetected. The only change was when Gerard got up to speak. _“Sorry, too formal? What would you do if I was there lol ;)”_

Jesse watched her read the message and smile. She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Stop,” she mouthed, then turned back to Gerard. He did too. 

“You’re first mission together will be in a few weeks, we believe, though that date is subject to change. A simple escort mission, nothing too difficult. I trust that you all will be exceptional.” 

Finally, the meeting seemed to be coming to its natural close. The mission brief was sent to their tablets, and Jesse found she had replied. _“Tease you for coming over to play a one-player game, probably. Come around 9?”_

 _“Sounds like a date,”_ he typed, then realized his mistake. A date? They weren’t dating. Sure, they’d kissed a couple more times since that last time they met up, and sure, he met her a bit more often do homework and stuff, but that didn’t mean anything. They weren’t dating. They wouldn’t start dating. This is strictly _casual._ He changed his message: _“Sounds good.”_

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this meeting short,” Gerard said, and Jesse snorted. Short? Jack gave him a stern look, but Gerard was continuing. “I’m sure my wife has gotten a bit impatient.”

The lights turned back on, dim then growing brighter. Reyes was unamused by how long the meeting took and seemed to follow Jack out of the room to let him know it. That’s how he found himself accompanying his definitely not-girlfriend (following behind him reluctantly), Moria, and Genji to the sitting room. A cozy place with a warm fire and a singular person sitting next to it. One Amélie Lacroix née Guillard, reading. 

“Mrs. Lacroix,” Moria greeted. They had all met, briefly, when Gerard invited Gabriel and Jack to their wedding. She had come to hand out the invitation personally and stayed to share some cookies with the rest of Blackwatch (minus Genji), though she didn’t know it. 

“Doctor,” she replied in a heavy French accent. As they stepped into the room, he was greeted with a comfortable warmth. The wind outside had grown cold as the winter months drew closer. The fire negates that, though, it’s well-fed embers crackling peacefully. “I was just wondering when I may see you again. And you, _cacahuète.”_ She looked at the girl still standing behind him who had made quite the impression last time by accidentally getting peanut butter in her hair. 

 _Cacahuète_ greeted her, then said, “Hope you weren’t too bored waiting for us.”

“Non, non,” Amelie replied. “I was interested in your books here. They were, how do you say, mind-expanding?”

“Thought-proving?” She provided, still standing behind Jesse for some reason. She tugs on his shirt, and he glances back. Her eyes gaze flicks to the door leading to the hallway, then back to him. 

 _“The Pack Mentality by_ Doctor. Jim Pickens,” Moria notes. She draws the attention of the room.“One of my favorites.” 

Amelie considered the purple leather-bound book. It’s well worn, pages almost yellow. “I found it… unnerving. Perhaps I didn’t understand it?” 

Jesse has to hold back a groan. Moria loves talking about philosophy, especially when the other person doesn’t know it. Makes herself sound all smart. “The idea is that a perfect person can be made. Built-up and crafted. All it would take is the destruction of who they once were.”

“Jess,” he hears a whisper from behind him. “The Commander’s going to be back soon.” So? He wants to say, but doubts it’ll be as subtle as her. 

“Destruction?” Amelie asks, drawing his attention back. The tone of the conversation has shifted, the fire not as warm. If Genji notices, or minds, he says nothing. No one does. The room is quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, fighting valiantly to fight off the cold of the outside. Still, it seems to fail as a chill covers the room.

“When I am performing with others, we work to be better by allowing the other person to shine in their strengths,” her brow creases as she tries to grasp at foreign words. “And then I cover their flaws. They do the same for me. Why is that not how things work elsewhere?”

“It is impossible to know the true extent of one’s greatness until they are pushed to their limits.” Moria picks up the book again. Her long fingers trace over the cover for a minute before opening it. She thumbs the pages, seemingly knowing where she wishes to go. When she finds it, she quotes, “‘Most people, I find as I continue my experiments, are like geodes. You need to break them to see what they’re made of.’”

The awkward silence of the room is only broken by the book softly closing. 

“And sometimes,” he hears from behind him, “They’re purple.”

He laughs, if uneasily. She snorts, the way she always doesn’t when she knows she’s told a bad joke. Amelie smiles, eyeing both of them, and voices come closer. Jack and Gabriel, words lost but angry, fitful tone not. Gerard too, quieter, placating. 

The three Commanders are on their way back. They’re coming from the southern door, opposite from the one he’s standing near. He braces himself for their arrival and, with it, the snacks and polite conversation that must follow. 

Jesse tries to resign himself to the long, boring conversation that will come when his heart jumps up to his throat. 

Fingers interlace with his, and a heated grip pulls him to the door as the arrival of the other three grabs the attention. He doesn’t have time to think about it, because she continues pulling him back, through the door they all entered. The hallway is dark now, the only light from the room they just left and the main hall in front of them. 

Their quiet escape seems to go unnoticed as he’s pulled further into the dark recess of the hallway. Jesse isn’t sure where they’re going— there are not too many places to escape Reyes and have a good excuse to be— but figured she has a plan. 

“Where are you going?”

Jesse nearly jumps out of his skin when Genji seemingly materializes in behind them. Had he even stayed in the room? He didn’t talk, and Jesse knows he hates hiding his cybernetics. Almost as much as he hates having them. 

“To get the room ready for training later,” the holder of his hand lies comfortably. The girl that decided to hold his hand first. Like, just out of the blue. For no reason— well, for a reason, but still. Well, it’s not a big deal. It’s not, right? Not unless she makes it a big deal, because he’s definitely not. 

It’s also not a big deal that she tightens her grip momentarily, pulling 

“Together?” He asks, eyes flicking down to where their hands are joined. Jesse finds he feels kind of defensive, tightening his hold and stepping forward a bit to hide it. Even if it isn’t a big deal. 

“Together, yeah. Jess is real dumb; he might get lost.” He elbows her for that, and she returns it with a smile. 

Something flashes over the cyborg’s eyes. Amusement, almost, if he were capable of such an emotion. He nods, then turns back to the room. 

“What was that about?” He asks her as they take the stairs. The training room Blackwatch uses is on the third floor, almost on the other side of the compound. Their destination: the supply closet next to it, where their equipment is housed. 

“With Genji? Dunno. He’s weird sometimes.” The next flight of stairs is cleared shortly, which only leads the long walk to the closet. “I only said that to get us out of their small talk, though. I really am tired of sitting and talking. We don’t have to go.” 

“Might as well,” he says. “Then Reyes might let us go when we’re crying, not crying _and_ begging.” 

“Fat chance, when he finds out who ate his ice cream.”

Still, even though he both knows where they’re going and walk-in stride now, he doesn’t let go of her hand. She doesn’t let go either, not until they’ve reached the closet. It unlocked and… empty. 

“Where—?” A quick check to the accompanying room shows that it’s already set up. 

“Looks like our work is done for us,” Jesse says, sitting on one of the containers. “You commin’ in?” Seeing her confused look, he explains, “We go back to our rooms, the Commander’ll find us. Unless you want to go back down to the _cacahuète_ gallery.” 

She shakes her head. No, neither of them enjoy the polite small talk that seems to be happening more and more now, with Overwatch expanding and Jack having to make more and more public occurrence. With the gentle sound of the door closing behind them, there’s a kind of peace in knowing they have time to themselves. 

“You seemed pretty eager to get out of there, earlier,” he says when she takes a seat on another container. It’s a bit smaller than his, half of the lid taken up by a box on the top, which forces her to kinda have to lean against it awkwardly. 

She shrugs to his question when she’s situated. “They’ve been fighting a lot more.”

“Who? Jack and Gabe?”

Another nod, and a bit of hesitation before, “Haven’t you noticed?”

He has. Jack isn’t totally on board with the idea of Blackwatch, no matter how much Gabe tries to push it. Ana has been doing her best to mediate, but tensions have been rising. 

“They’ll get past it.” She shuffles back a bit on her seat, looking uncomfortable. “C’mere,” Jesse says, patting the space next to him. The container isn’t the biggest, but it’s a step above what she’s got. 

When she sits, still just a bit taller than him, her leg presses against his; her arm rests so close to his— almost close enough to reach out and retake his hand. She doesn’t notice how the back of his hand rests almost against hers, or how he kinda maybe might have moved it a bit closer. Just one bold move away, and he can intertwine their fingers again— 

“How long have they been working together now?” She says, looking at him. The question is rhetorical, which is good because he’s feeling mighty tongue-tied. “They’ll work it out. I know it. They will.”

With the end of her describe statement, the light turns out. The light switch is just a few feet away, but with the chill all around, leaving body heat to turn it back on isn’t that appealing. 

“Gotta say, if I knew the light turned off when the door was closed, I mighta—” He supposes he ought to go, be a gentleman and brave the cold, when she stops him. 

A gentle hand, so soft and barely-there, cups his cheek softly. Turns him till he’s facing what he assumes is her. Her thumb runs over the stubble he’s so proud of as she tilts his head up just a bit. Just enough for soft lips to run over his. Jesse meets her easily; happily, one hand holding onto her waist, the other mirroring her by cupping her face. 

The air around them is bitingly cold, but she’s so warm. Enough to make him want to be closer, pull her closer until she moves to her knees, leaning into him. And then closer still, until she comes to sit in his lap. When she moves a bit, trying to adjust from the awkward position of facing sideways to straddling him, she brushes over the zipper of his jeans, just enough added pressure to make her gasp. The sound goes straight to his dick. Desperate, he pulls her even closer, the hand that had been resting on her cheek goes down to the small of her back to draw her in. 

She does as he wants, continuing the rocking motion he’s felt before but wants to become more familiar with. Repeats it, until every other breath is a gasp of her name. “Jess, I—” She stops kissing him to dip her head into the base of his neck. Her breath tickles him a bit, but he’s more focused on the way her hips haven’t stopped moving. A bit too slow, but he doesn’t force her to move any faster. “I’m cold.” 

He nods, dumbly, not really taking in what she’s saying. Just feels her inhale deeply, then the warmth of her breath as she speaks again, voice just above a whisper, “Do you maybe wanna change that?”

He starts to nod again, not thinking before his upstairs brain catches up. “W— Was that… a _line?_ Like _flirting?”_

The heat from her blush is noticeable as she pushes closer to him, almost in a hug at this point. “I don’t know. Maybe?” She pulls back a bit, and he can just barely make out her outline in the dim light that comes from under the door. “I’m sorry. Was it bad? I won’t do it again. That was horrible, wasn’t it?”

If this were a romance movie, where he was in love with her, then Jesse would have kissed her to shush her. Instead, he just kind of laughs. “Nah, jus’ kinda cute.” When he does kiss her again, more smiles and giggling that heated passion. She’s still kind of blushing; he can tell from the heat his hand meets as he sweeps her hair back. 

“Cute enough to make you fall in love with me?” 

“Nah, not r-really. Jus’ kinda, kinda— _fuck.”_ She resumed the motions of her hips, drawing out a moan that’s a bit too loud. His head thunks back against the wall behind him. 

“Shh,” she reprimands as she lightly bites at his newly exposed neck. With him losing control again, she gains confidence. “Don’t wanna have anyone hear us, do you, cowboy?” 

“Nah— ngh, _yeah.”_ Her hands come to cover his, which had been loosely around her waist. She presses against him hard, once, twice, until she doesn’t. Her grinding persists but at a much slower pace. His grip on her tightens, just a bit, and his hips reach up, searching for more friction. 

That mustn't be what she wants, as she pulls away even further, just far enough to not be against him at all. One hand slides down to deliver feather-light touches to his cock, barely felt through his pants. Up, down, waiting, _teasing,_ before going back up to circle the general shape of the head. Jesse pants, maybe something that sounds like _‘please’_ mixed somewhere in there, he’s not sure, just knows he so desperate, wanting to continue chasing the orgasm he was surely promised before. Still, he doesn’t buck up into her hand— he’s still got some self-control left— and doesn’t want to pressure her. 

Her leaning forward, letting him feel the warmth of her body from her thighs to his chest _is_ enough to get him to buck up a little. “What’s the matter, Jess?” 

Her voice is teasing, infuriating, and so goddamn hot. When her mouth ventures a little lower, just underneath the collar of his shirt, he’s so tempted to pull her down and force her to go back to that rocking pace. Until he gets her moaning too, as desperate as he is. Until it’s him that has to shush her quietly, but even that she wouldn’t be able to. Not until he kisses her, and swallows her moans. Until she gasps out that she’s close, and he pushes his hand into her pants to help her along, feel her flutter around his fingers, and she moans out his name—  

The feeling of her licking a spot of skin pulls him back to the present. He’s about to ask what she’s doing when she sucks on the place and bites it, just a little, before repeating the process. She’s giving him a hickey. The thought alone is erotic, but when she speaks, a little out of breath, “Seems fair, since you always leave me walking a little funny,” he’s pretty sure he’s ascended. 

And then, when she rocks her hips again, finally giving him that delicious friction he’d been wanting, he knows he has. It’s not as fast and rough as before, but after the agonizing time without it, it’s enough. 

“Why don’t you take the lead?” She asks as his hips stay still. 

“Didn’—  don’ wanna make you feel like—”

“You won’t, I promise.” Her hands over his once more, hips poised. She leans down once again, so close to his ear he gets chills when she speaks. “C’mon, Jess. Fuck me like you mean it.”

A deep groan, close to a growl, is ripped from him. His hands tighten around her waist, pulling her down against him so she gives him the hard and fast friction he wants. He plants his feet and allows himself to buck up, _finally_ chasing the orgasm as he wants. 

The startled gasp and subsequent moan she lets out is swallowed by his lips, by his tongue that invades her mouth to taste her. He makes her bounce on his lap, over and over until he can imagine how it would feel like to be in her actually, and it sends a pleasurable jolt south, tightening the growing knot in his stomach. And still, it’s not enough. 

Jesse growls in frustration, pushing her back. She stands quickly, catching herself, and he follows. The container he’d been leaning back on is the one he pushes her on to, forcing her to brace on her hands as his dick finds its way to the curve of her ass. 

“This good?” He has the mind to ask, rocking gently to maintain some friction until she answers. 

“Harder,” she gasps out. 

He obliges. 

He snaps his hips forward, holding her's still as he searches for his release. Back and forward until he finds a rhythm: fast, hard, and unrelenting. It seems to please both of him, if her choked out sounds of “ _Jess, please, Jess”_ is anything to go buy. He’s not sure what she’s asking for, not even sure if _she_ knows. 

Another rock forward of his hips that’s so good, but almost not enough. What he wouldn’t give to push down his pants and actually fuck her. Maybe, if he asked, she’d say yes. The thought alone makes his cock twitch.

“Darlin’,” he whispers, drawl thick as he nears his end. She whimpers, a sweet sound that pulls him down to her. His mouth finds the nape of her neck, kisses and pulls at the skin to leave a mark. He’s so close, and by the way she bucks back against him, he’s sure she is too. He can feel her panting against him, feels the way she struggles for breath. One arm comes down to support him, the other snaking around to her stomach to pull her close. 

He feels her moving, not sure what she’s doing until her hand finds the one that’s holding her, and grasps it tightly. And that, perhaps embarrassingly, is what pushes him over the edge. He pushes forward one, two, three more times, and then one last one just to feel that pleasurable pain of overstimulation. 

He stays over her for just a few seconds longer. “Do ya think we could nap until—” 

Voices from outside the room, and going next door, draw his attention. Nope, it seemed not. Just his luck. She pats his hand, wanting him to stand up, and he does. The wetness in his pants isn't great, and it’s kind of gross to move. 

“Wow,” she laughs. “You literally creamed your jeans for me.” 

“Har har. But you did too.” He pulls at the crotch of his pants, trying to make it more comfortable. There’s a click, and then the light turns on. It’s bright, and kinda hurts, but shows that there is a rather noticeable dark patch. Probably not the best for him to go and talk to the Commander like this. He wonders who’s worse, since the other should bite the bullet— 

“Hey,” Jesse says, looking at her pants which were missing an embarrassing mess. “You didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” she hisses, face heating up. She rapidly tries to reposition her clothes, fix her hair, make herself look unfucked while casting a quick look at the wall between them and the rest of Blackwatch. “Just, let me go talk to—”

“No! Go sit down and I’ll—”

“Jess, we don’t have time, the Commander—” 

“But you didn’t—” 

She kisses him to shut him up. It works, disarmingly effective. She’s still blushing when she says, “If it bothers you that much, make it up to me later. For now, just go clean up.”

Another kiss and she turns. Jesse can’t help the feeling that comes over him; one that makes him want this moment to last. He reaches out, wants to grab her hand, steal a few more minutes with her, but stops himself. That’s dumb, he reminds himself. 

This isn’t some damn romance novel. His hand falls back to his side, echoed by the _thud_ of the door closing. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because he’s not in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse really is sorry. He'll make up for it in the next chapter *wink wonk*.
> 
> -
> 
> The reason this took so long to be published is because I rewrote it like 15 times and I'm still not happy with it. But I just really wanted to move forward with this and get on with what little plot there is so _*again, throws trash and hopes you accept it*_

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading. I had the bare-bones of this story planned out, but never really finished it. This story will be updated periodically, but it really depends on my motivation, which is kinda dying for Overwatch. 
> 
> This is normally the part when I'd link back to my tumblr, but that would defeat the purpose of posting anonymously, so I guess I'll just thank you again for reading and ask you to comment. 
> 
> As I said, I have a skeleton of an idea, but if you suggest something that I can work into my story, maybe I'll include it.


End file.
